


Tethered

by eeyore9990



Series: December Gift Fic Spree [21]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anchors, M/M, Rope Bondage, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 18:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2822147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Derek evolves into the full wolf, he loses control.  With his anchor gone, he disappears and it's up to John to find him and bring him back to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tethered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leela_cat (Leela)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/gifts).



> To Leela, without whom I would never have immersed myself in this fandom that I have grown to love so well.
> 
> To the best of my abilities, I've back tracked our friendship, and let me just say that these last _eight plus years_ have been beautifully rich and overflowing with the joy your friendship brings me. I love you so much. This story is a poor tribute, but it is from the heart.
> 
> Happy Chanuka, my love.
> 
>  
> 
> To everyone else, happy December 21st!

When he finally finds him, John stares down the embankment at a filthy, naked, bloodied Derek Hale and curses to himself. As wrong as it is, he'd been hoping for a darker reason for Hale's disappearance.

A kidnapping he could deal with.

A feral manchild that had a good twenty pounds of solid muscle on him and the supernatural strength to back it up? Eh, maybe not so much.

Sliding sideways down the embankment with an ease known only to long-time first responders, John lands nimbly on his feet and reaches out a steady hand, holding Hale's gaze as he says, voice heavy with command, "Come along, son. I'm taking you home."

John keeps up a dialogue as he first guides Hale toward his cruiser and then makes the five minute journey to the house. It's a calculated decision; he's heard stories of the blood that's been spilled in that run down loft of Hale's. Hopefully the Stilinski house will smell only of pack -- assuming Stiles hasn't been carefully editing the stories he tells.

By the time he pulls into his driveway, Hale has lost some of that wild-dog expression and is responding to simple questions with headshakes and the occasional grunt. John figures that's as good as it's going to get for now and puts the cruiser in park, radioing in to the station that he's cutting out early due to stomach troubles.

Parrish comes back over the line, makes the appropriate noises, and John starts to relax for the first time since Stiles and Scott left in a panic for Mexico seven hours earlier. They'd assumed more supernatural shenanigans and left John and Parrish to investigate under the radar closer to home. Parrish ends the radio chatter with a well wish and, "Don't go eating any of that food Stiles keeps forcing on you."

John smiles grimly and says, "I'm thinking that's what's got me feeling so poorly. I think those health food people repackaged _dog kibble_ and we're fools enough to give them our money."

"Roger that, sir," Parrish says, and John can hear the relief and the unspoken _message received_ in his tone. "Over and out."

Switching off the radio, John turns to Derek. "I've brought you here because I think you need a safe place. I don't know what's going on with you -- I think you keep a lot close to the vest. But you're welcome here as long as you need us."

Hale, who'd been getting a little twitchy during his conversation with Parrish, focuses on John preternaturally fast. It's the first time John has actually felt like he's on the wrong side of the predator/prey line while in Hale's presence. The kid's usually got a much better hold on himself than this. 

Narrowing his eyes, John calls on every ounce of authority vested in him by the State of California and snaps out, "Derek!"

Hale...shrinks, right there in the passenger seat of John's cruiser. His shoulders pull in and his chin dips right down to his chest as his eyes drop straight to the console. If he had the room, John has no doubt Hale would be rolling over and presenting his belly.

Trying to keep Hale's focus on him -- focus issues he can handle; he has nearly eighteen years of experience raising _Stiles_ \-- John keeps his voice firm and says, "We're going inside now. I want you to put on my jacket. My neighbors don't need to know I'm escorting a naked young man into my house." 

It isn't easy to shrug out of his jacket in the confines of the car, but John manages and hands it over, watching as Derek sniffs the material before clumsily pulling it on. It's like the kid suddenly forgot how to use his thumbs.

Once that's done, John hops out, slamming his door behind him as he circles the cruiser and lets Derek out. "Come on, son," he commands when Derek just stares up at him, uncomprehending. 

Derek unfolds his legs from the car and stands up, whacking the top of his head and turning to snarl at the cruiser before John snaps his name again. After that, Derek remains meekly obedient until they're safely in the house. 

John takes his jacket back from Derek before wrinkling his nose at it and hanging it up. He'll take it to the cleaners tomorrow. Derek's filthy state is a much more pressing matter.

Leading the young man up the stairs with a firm hand and clear commands, John guides him into the bathroom and onto the closed toilet seat. As he runs a bath, John continues talking, going over case files out loud when he runs out of other things to say. He takes a moment to wonder how Stiles manages to hold hours-long, one-sided conversations before he notices the bath is ready.

Normally, he'd leave Derek to it. Hell, normally he'd have just sent Derek to the bathroom with instructions on where to find extra towels. But that's not going to work here, and John isn't shy. He helps Derek into the bath, then tells him to sit, wincing when Derek drops immediately to his haunches, sending a wave of warm water splashing to the tile floor.

Bundling up a towel, John drops it to the floor and then kneels on it with a grimace as he grabs a washcloth and starts soaping it up. It's plain soap, and hopefully no more offensive to a werewolf's sensitive nose than it is to his own. As he starts dragging the cloth efficiently over Derek's skin, he notices the way the young man begins to relax; that other-worldly tension seeps out of him, his gaze becomes less sharp, and finally John swears he can see self-awareness trickle back in.

What he isn't prepared for is the horror that fills Derek's eyes or the way his entire body starts shaking, hard enough to splash more water to the floor. Reaching out, John grabs the back of Derek's neck, his grip firm, and forces him to meet John's eyes. When he can _see_ that wild panic dissipating, John starts talking again. But this time it's not pointless nattering.

"You're safe," John says, his voice firm and sure. He's talked to enough disoriented people in his career to know how to do this part, at least. "The pack is safe. You're at my house because you went missing for a few days and I found you. Later, I'm gonna want you to try to remember what happened when you went missing, but for now you don't have to think about that. I was giving you a bath because I found you in the Preserve covered in half the damn forest, but I'm done now. I'm going to get a towel to dry you off and we're going to go to the guest bedroom because I have the feeling you haven't slept in a while." 

At that, Derek goes stiff, surging up and clamping his hands tight to John's arms, his eyes wide and nearly rolling in their sockets. "I can't sleep," he says, his voice hoarse, and it's not a confession. It's a warning. "If I sleep, I'll lose _me_ again."

John relaxes his hold, sinking back down to rest his ass on his heels. Derek doesn't let him go, and he knows he's probably going to be bruised all to hell, but it's fine. He's dealt with worse. "All right, well. We'll talk about that. See what we can work out." 

Reaching forward, he pulls the plug to let the water out and then pushes to his feet, bracing himself against the side of the tub for a minute when his knees protest. He grabs a clean towel and turns around to see that Derek is standing, water rushing from his body to follow the rest down the drain. He tries not to notice… _anything_ , but it was much easier when Derek was obviously absent from his own head. Now that he's back, even if he's looking a little shaken and destroyed, it's harder for John to lock down that part of himself that appreciates the beauty of the form in front of him.

John shakes the towel out, using action to move himself past any inappropriate thoughts and desires. If he's a little rough when he reaches for Derek with the towel, well. It's been a while since he's done this part. 

"Everyone's safe?" Derek finally says, his eyes trained on one of the buttons on John's shirt as John helps him step from the tub onto the folded up towel on the floor. 

"Yes, son. The entire pack was out looking for you. They'd be here now, but they, uh, went to Mexico. Thought maybe you'd been taken again." Derek looks up at him then, and his eyes look so sad that John can't stop himself from tugging him into a hug. "Whatever happened, it's gonna be fine. We'll figure it out."

Derek clings back, and John can feel those tremors rippling through his body again. "I lost my anchor," he whispers, and John isn't entirely sure what that means, but it sounds like something he can actually help with.

\--

After John gets Derek settled on the couch downstairs with just a cup of tea and a thick blanket -- he'd recoiled at the idea of clothing and John wasn't going to push it -- he lets Derek know he'll be right back and goes up to the attic. The bag is where he left it, and the dust coating it has been undisturbed, which is good. He'd hate to think of Stiles finding this and getting ideas of any sort.

"All right, so I know I offered you the guest bedroom, and that's still yours," John says, coming back into the room and setting the bag down. He looks closely at Derek, looking for signs that he's gone again, but he's quietly sipping his tea and his eyes are all human as they track John. "But I think this conversation needs to happen in a neutral place, not a bedroom." When Derek's glance flicks to the bag, curiosity pulling his eyebrows together, John shakes his head. "Not yet. We'll get to the bag in a little bit. For now, I need you to tell me what it means that you lost your anchor."

Derek takes a few shaky breaths and stares down into his tea. John just waits patiently because Derek isn't a verbose guy in any reality, and if he needs time to collect his thoughts, John can appreciate that. "My anchor keeps me tethered to my human side," he finally says, and the tea seems to have helped with the lingering hoarseness in his voice. "Without it, the wolf takes over."

"Okay, but you were human when I found you. I mean, you were in," John gestures, "this body."

Derek straightens, and something more comes into his eyes. Something settled and sure. "When we lose our sense of self, the wolf takes the form we're most familiar with. For me, that's this one. Before it would have been my beta shift," he's gesturing freely now, setting down his tea and leaning forward, engaging in the power that comes with easy knowledge, "but since I evolved to a full shift, my human form is more familiar."

John nods, because even if he doesn't really know what the hell half the words coming out of Derek's mouth mean, he does know that Derek is growing stronger in himself as he explains this. He wonders idly if Derek's ever considered doing _this_ with his life -- teaching -- and then realizes that's probably exactly what he _does_. True Alpha or not, Scott's new to this whole supernatural thing and John loves his son, but Stiles is limited to the knowledge he can parse from a million unreliable sources.

"Our anchors keep our _minds_ tethered. They keep the wolf from taking over and running on pure instinct."

"Okay," John says, leaning his elbows on his knees as he angles his body toward Derek. "That's the second time you've used the word _tethered_."

"Yes, it's…" Derek blinks, his long lashes fanning across his cheekbones, and John is struck again by how _beautiful_ he is. "When instinct takes over, it… It's like…" He looks flustered, his cheeks going a little pink, and he flashes his eyes up to John's for a second. "I'm sorry. It's not an easy concept to put into words."

"It's fine, son." John reaches out, places his hand on the blanket covering Derek's knee and squeezes. He doesn't miss the way Derek sways toward him at the gentle touch. "You don't actually have to tell me. This isn't an interrogation."

"I want you to understand." Derek impatiently pushes the blanket from around his shoulders so that it pools at his waist and suddenly John's having a much more difficult time maintaining eye contact. He wonders idly if the body hair is a product of being a werewolf or if it's just how Derek would look even if he were completely human. Derek's next words ring a little with excitement, and John can't help the way his lips curve up at hearing it. 

"It's like in a western movie. You've got the cowboy riding the horse, right? Well, the cowboy is the human side, the one that operates on knowledge and logic. The horse is the wolf side -- pure instinct. If the cowboy drops the reins or if something happens to the cowboy, the horse takes over. The struggle then is to keep the cowboy _on_ the horse so he can regain control. Trying to regain control after the horse takes over is pretty easy, as long as you have an anchor."

"The reins," John says, nodding, because this is an analogy he can get behind. 

"Right. The reins are like the anchor. Sometimes we let the reins loose so the wolf can come out."

"You give the horse its head."

Derek's eyes light up. "Right! When that happens, we shift. But the cowboy still has the reins. We can reassert our human side at any time, just by pulling back on the reins."

"But when you lose your anchor, it's like the reins disappear and the horse is just running wild."

"And at that point, we're just hanging on, trying not to get thrown off." Derek looks down at his lap, smiling softly. 

"Well," John says, nudging the bag with his toe. "I might have something to help with that. It's a little more literal than what you were talking about, but… My wife, when she got sick, we looked into things that might help. She kept coming back to this. It wasn't," John takes a breath, and this time it's him that's a little shaky. "It wasn't in any of the medical brochures, but she stumbled across it while researching other things and it… it clicked for her."

The tables fully turn when Derek reaches out, placing _his_ hand on _John's_ knee. He doesn't say anything, but John knows he understands how hard it is, to talk about people they've lost. That makes it easier, somehow.

"Have you ever heard of shibari? It's a Japanese thing, with ropes and--"

"Bondage," Derek says, eyebrows winging up in surprise.

John nods, studies his face, looks for any hint of judgement, but it's not there. "Claudia and I, we studied up on it, got where I could tie the ropes right. She said it helped her. She felt more in control of her mind when she was tied up. I only," he clears his throat, studies the dust patches clinging to the bag. "I only did it when she had the clarity of mind to ask. If she couldn't ask, she couldn't consent and that… I didn't just tie up my sick wife."

"I know," Derek says, and it's with such certainty that John relaxes.

"If what you need is a tether," John finally says, after a long moment of contemplative silence, "I might be able to help you with that. I know you need to find an anchor, and I know these ropes won't hold you. That's not the point. The point is…" He trails off, because he's kind of lost track of what the point is. "I think this will help."

\--

The bed dips when Derek crawls onto it, and John tries hard not to think about the way his ass looks in a borrowed pair of John's boxers. For this first part, John has him sit up. He winds the ropes around Derek's chest, keeping them taut but not too tight, just a nice pressure against his skin. Enough for him to feel them, but not to restrict his breathing. 

There are some false starts, a few times that John has to pick out a knot and retie it, but soon enough his fingers are working by rote, falling back into patterns that he'd learned more than a decade ago. He keeps checking with Derek, makes himself talk some more. He's probably repeating a lot of the conversation from the car, but he thinks it's okay since he's pretty sure Derek wasn't totally with him then.

When he finishes with Derek's chest, he sits back and admires his handiwork. The soft black ropes are criss-crossed over his chest, pressing into the muscle. The knots converge on a single place in the middle from which the ropes spiderweb out into a series of smaller interchanges. 

"I'm going to have you lay down now," John says, and raises his eyes to Derek's for the first time since he started with the rope. What he sees is… well. It's a little arousing, to be honest. 

Derek's eyes are bright, wide, the pupils nearly swallowing up the myriad colors of his irises. His cheeks are flushed a ruddy red color that is mirrored in the color darkening the tips of his ears. His lips are bitten red, a little swollen, and as John watches, his breathing gets a little shallow; a lot ragged.

"Hey," John says, wrapping his hand around the back of Derek's neck and squeezing. It works a little, brings Derek's darkening gaze to his own. "If you need to stop--"

The broken, pleading noise that falls from Derek's mouth makes John's pulse speed up and his dick starts to harden in his pants. He tries to push that away, because that's not what this is about. This is about helping _Derek_ , not helping himself _to_ Derek.

"I need you to talk to me, son," he says, and to his own ears his voice sounds husky. 

"I," Derek says, his breath rushing out of him. "Please. Keep… keep going."

John holds Derek's gaze for a long minute before he nods. "Okay. Will you be more comfortable on your stomach or your back?"

That question drags a little more focus back into Derek's expression. It requires him to think, to consider his body and his needs. John stores that knowledge away.

"On my back," Derek says, and then eases himself down with John's help.

Testing the ropes again from this new position, John deems them good and then shifts to start on Derek's legs when his mouth goes dry. He doesn't know how he missed it earlier, when he was securing the ropes around Derek's chest, but Derek is fully hard, his dick poking up through the slit in John's boxers. It's as beautiful as the rest of him, thick and jutting and flushed as red as his cheeks. 

It takes a nearly superhuman amount of strength for John to move past that, but he has a goal here and it's not to take advantage of Derek. If that's an option on the table, that's fine. That's more than fine. John's obviously willing to explore that option as well, but that's not what tonight is about. Derek's struggling with his control, and as long as that remains the case…

"Please," Derek whispers, and John realizes that for all of his stern admonishments to himself, he's _still_ staring down at Derek's dick. 

Dragging his eyes from it, he looks up at Derek and put his thoughts into words. "Not tonight." He hates himself a little for the way Derek's face twists into a broken expression. "You've had enough to deal with tonight. If you still want… _this_ tomorrow, we'll discuss it then. But not tonight." 

He picks up the next length of rope and moves determinedly down the bed, lifting and moving Derek's legs as he ties the ropes around them, knotting and tying and moving without thought. It's torture, because with each new pass of the rope, noises spill from Derek's mouth that are battering against John's resolve. By the time he's done, the scent of come is thick in the air and he's almost afraid to look. When he does, his breath leaves him in a rush.

Derek's still hard, but there's an almost continuous flow of come beading up at the tip of his dick and Derek looks…. John licks his lips, takes in the way the flush has spread from Derek's cheeks down his chest. Watches as Derek's hands open and close, grabbing onto the sheets before releasing them, over and over. The noises are still rising in the air, little broken, needy sounds that make sweat bead up on John's lip. 

He'd known intellectually that this could be sexually stimulating for people, but it had never been about that for Claudia. It had been comfort and safety and a tether to the world when she felt like she was flying away from those things. But Derek… John doesn't actually know if this is helping his control issues or making them worse. Because he looks _gone_ , like he's going to fly apart any second. And John's a little afraid he'll be right behind the kid.

Pressing the heel of his hand firmly against his own twitching dick, John sits back and contemplates what to do next. Normally he'd start on Derek's arms and then attach everything to the central ropes on his chest, drawing his body in tight and cocooning him into himself. But first he needs to know he's still got a green light on this. He doesn't want to have Derek waking up in the morning and questioning whether he can trust John.

The kid doesn't have enough people in his life he can trust, and John's not going to destroy that fragile bond. Not for anything.

"Hey," he says, coming up the bed and smoothing his hand through Derek's hair. Derek keens, pushing into the touch, his big body trying to curl into John's. "Hey, shhh. It's okay. Derek, I need to know you're with me, son. Can you talk to me?"

Derek's eyes roll to meet his, and John feels a little relief trickle through him. Derek's lips part, but no sound comes out for a long minute. Then, he says it again. "Please." 

"I need you to be clear, okay? Is this still something you want? Do we need to take a break for a minute?"

"No," Derek says, eyes flaring wide. Then, with visible effort, he licks his lips and says, "No, I don't need a break. I'm fine. I still… want this. Please."

John's mouth twists and he wipes away a few drops of sweat from the side of Derek's face. "Is this helping? Or is it making your control situation worse?"

It takes longer for Derek to find his words this time, nuzzling as he is into John's hand. "It's helping. It's… different. Not like an anchor but… I've never felt more connected to my humanity than I do now."

John spends a few more minutes petting Derek before he slides away again, picking up more rope. "I'm going to do your arms now, and then… then we'll connect everything. Do you want me to leave for a minute? Do you need some time alone before you can't use your hands anymore?" He could be more explicit in what he's asking, but he doesn't want to traumatize the kid.

Locking eyes with him, Derek's lips curve up and he shakes his head. "Pretty sure I won't need to use my hands."

The affectionate, "Brat," slips out before John can think about it, but Derek laughs, and the tension eases a little.

Shaking his head, John goes back to work, winding and knotting the ropes around Derek's arms, being careful not to cut off the circulation to his hands. He makes it all the way down to Derek's elbow before the noises begin to fall from Derek's mouth again. This time, though, he doesn't stop. If this is helping Derek connect with his humanity, John isn't going to interrupt that.

As his fingers fit the rope around Derek's wrist, knotting it against the thin skin on the underside, Derek's back bows off the bed, his dick twitching as he comes all over the bunching, ridiculous muscles of his stomach. Derek settles then, goes quiet, cheeks still flushed, but obviously sated in mind as well as body.

John finishes the knots on Derek's other arm and eases his limbs into a loose configuration against his chest, taking new, shorter ropes, and binding them to the ones on his chest until he's locked in a vaguely fetal position. He eases Derek to his side then, and crawls on the bed behind him, curving his body around Derek's and holding him tight, giving him the tether he needs.

For all that it's drawn up tight in knots, Derek's entire body feels loose in John's grip, and his head just lolls against the pillows. But his voice sounds clear and present when he whispers, "Thank you."

"Anytime," John murmurs back.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't try shibari at home without doing proper research, please. :P This fic does NOT count as proper research.


End file.
